Inhuman
by Orpah
Summary: Australia may not be a child anymore, but it doesn't mean he doesn't have a lot of growing up to do. The story of Australia and New Zealand, with Canada, from WWI onwards.
1. Chapter 1

All right, brief explanation here; this is a WWI and further on story I expect to make long. Something new readers should know is that it is a sequel to Savage, a story of mine, but that it is perfectly understandable without having read that story. This story will focus primarily on Australia and New Zealand.

So, to the readers who have followed me and read Savage, I hope you forgive me for taking so long; it takes some time to get an idea like this off of the ground.

I hope y'all enjoy the story!

I don't own Hetalia!end/AN/

"Mexico has gone loco, I'm telling you!"

America didn't often visit Australia, to be completely honest; and especially during such an upheaval in a neighboring country.

But ever since federation, Australia had been seeing more and more of the country, as well as other ones, including his Asian and Oceanic neighbors. It excited him, to some extent, but at the same time, foreign influences made him a bit uneasy. He'd reacted rather similarly to China's visits as America had: no thanks, stop coming over!

Australia couldn't help but try to lighten the mood by grinning. "Zea's pretty crazy too."

America, however, rolled his eyes, saying, "Australia, you wouldn't understand; I mean bona fide insane. You're just annoyed by New Zealand. Mexico's practically turning himself inside out. Hence, I've had to watch and make sure he doesn't cause problems across the border."

It always felt like America was being condescending when he compared their problems; it was true, Australia didn't have quite the contentious history that America had with neighbors, but that didn't mean he didn't get it! "No, I understand."

He'd never met Mexico; Canada had told him, once upon a time, that Mexico was a tan, dark-haired fellow with a penchant for swearing at America in Spanish. He also told him he was deeply religious and traditional.

"Of course you do." America's way, clearly, of saying 'No, you do not.' But America carried on, taking a sip of his beer as he talked. "Anyway, that bastard's causing so many problems. Nothing I can't handle, though."

It was just a little foreign, to think of having someone truly mad at you on your border. Being a continent all his own, Australia just had a hard time understanding. "Yeah. Hey, what else is going on? In Europe, and with Canada, and-"

"Yeah, yeah, world news, I know." America seemed to roll his eyes, but he also looked secretly pleased that he was vital to Australia's knowledge. "You probably know about Ireland. England's probably going to give her home rule. Maybe then she'll stop coming over to my house." He made a face, as if Australia understood how loathsome Ireland was.

It made Australia angry, to be honest. Ireland was a damn fine woman, and she didn't deserve to be treated the way she was by others. He was about to say so, maybe even challenge America to a fight, when the other country carried on.

"There's something to do with Wales, I think. Can't remember what…" America chewed thoughtfully on his lip.

"That'd be the church act," Australia supplied helpfully, knowing that this was something that Wales had been anticipating and hoping for, for quite some time. It meant that he would be allowed to go to church in any church he chose.

"Yeah. And, let me think... there's these pictures with this fellow called Charlie Chaplin that've come out, but I don't think they're going anywhere… Still, they're kind of funny. Maybe you can watch them next time you visit me? Oh wait, they won't be in the theater anymore…" America was easily caught up in his own thoughts, taking another chug of beer.

Australia had seen one picture in his life. It was some sort of re-enactment of a battle; it hadn't been that exciting to him. You couldn't even hear anything like with a play. He took a chug of his own beer, and said, "What's it like to be in a war?"

"Hm? Oh, you know…" America replied, looking at Australia for confirmation that he did indeed know. When he got no such reassurance, he continued, "It's, hm, it's sort of a whole mess, but if you're strong and courageous, then you fight, and you win, most of the time. Not always, but when you do win, it's the best feeling in the world, because you just proved that you're a nation, you're strong, and no one can push you around."

He patted Australia's shoulder. "You'll understand someday, when you cut the apron strings." Then he grinned, like what he had said was particularly funny.

Australia glared. "I'm not tied to England's apron strings!"

"No, but he still bottle feeds you, doesn't he?" America couldn't help but chuckle at his own joke.

Australia jumped up from his seat, snapping, "You want to go? Let's have a round, right here, right now!"

America only laughed. "Come on, I can't fight you; you're practically a kid. Besides, we're the sane ones; it wouldn't do if we were fighting."

In Australia's honest opinion, America may or may not have been one of the sane ones; but right now, all he knew was, he was one of the ones who made him angry. "I can take you! You're practically a kid too!"

Seeming pensive, America took a long draught of his beer. "No," he said, somewhat thoughtfully, "I really am not a kid." He stood, setting the empty glass on the table. Winking at Australia, he said, "You'll get your chance to fight someone for real; don't be too eager."

Australia hunched up his shoulders in annoyance. He didn't particularly like the way America treated him, but what was he going to do? America refused to fight him. "Yeah, we'll just see."

"We will," America agreed, and he patted Australia on the shoulder. "I wouldn't be too worried about fighting, though. It's not like you're in a volatile region."

Australia sighed, saying, "Are you going to get going or not? Don't you have a ship to catch?"

"That I do! Goodbye, see you, I don't know, next year or sometime!" America startled him by a tight hug, and then swiftly turned on his heel, waving as he left.

"Yeah. Bye!" Australia watched him go, and then sat back down. He probably wouldn't be in any real battles; it felt as though the time of great long campaigns and pitched battles were over to him, even though he knew that England and many other countries were just itching to try their new weapons and take over.

They were too civilized now for anything that would involve him.

* * *

They'd heard the news almost instantly, as the world reeled from attack on sanity after attack on sanity. First, the Archduke of Austria- gone.

Then, war declared by various countries. Austria-Hungary had started _that_, of course, and Russia had reacted protectively towards Serbia, though there was a lot of talk of ulterior motives there.

Germany had declared war on Russia, and then France had mobilized. Germany had declared war on France.

And within days of the whole thing, before even declaring war on France, Luxembourg had already been taken by Germany, and an ultimatum issued to Belgium.

Australia didn't know Belgium well, but he could only assume she was brave. She was a tiny country, but she'd gone and said, "No, thank you."

And Germany invaded.

England had declared war, and with him came all of them. There was no doubt, not even the slightest idea that they should have to declare war separately; they were the empire, and Australia was not inclined to make a spectacle of himself on the world stage at a time like this.

He'd shot at a German ship, detaining that; even as Belgium fell, his was the first shot of the war from the United Kingdom's empire.

It was only days later that Australia declared himself at war with Germany and Austria-Hungary and any of their allies. Maybe he had a stubborn or independent streak, but he was a federation, not a colony, and so had the right to say so.

New Zealand did nothing similar.

Australia got a letter in the mail none too long later. It was short, and to the point.

_Dear Australia,_

_I depart for the battle front tomorrow. I should be back fairly soon, and then we will visit once it's all blown over. Stay safe, and fight from where you are. I couldn't stand it if you were hurt in something like this._

_With love, _

_Canada_

Australia felt a surge of disappointment. The dismissive attitude, as though he couldn't bring something important to the table in a battle, was irritating. It was similar to America, and damnit, he could fight if he had to! He'd been battling crocs for years, what was a person in comparison?

But he'd written back, saying politely that he wished him well, and not so politely that he should shoot some German ass.

Only one more ship came through, and Australia dispatched that easily enough.

But he could do more, if he were only given the opportunity! It stank that he was all the way stuck on the other side of the world while Canada and the rest fought for their countries and empires.

New Zealand had wrapped an arm around his shoulder, murmuring something about someday getting their chance, and how fighting England wasn't all that exciting, so how much better could this be?

It didn't soothe Australia, but he waited patiently for his chance to prove himself.

/AN/ I have this planned out, and I thought it would take a lot longer to get the start of WWI sketched out, but then I realized it barely involved the main characters at all. Huh.

History! Mexico and America are somewhat at war at this point. This was because of the Tampico Affair, which happened during the Mexican Revolution, which was ongoing at this point. Before the Tampico Affair, in which US soldiers were threatened and arrested, relations had been okay between the US and Mexico. After that, however, the diplomatic relations deteriorated to the point that the US occupied Veracruz for six months.

Now, the start of WWI is complicated. There were a lot of factors at play, including a lot of alliances and secret treaties that set the world up for a war like that. If it hadn't been the murder of the Archduke Ferdinand, it would have been something else.

Basically, as I understand it, the occasion was used as an opportunity by Austria-Hungary to attack Serbia; this was at a point in time when pretty much every major country had a great confidence in their new, advanced weapons. Hence, they so easily jumped into war.

However, Russia had good relations with Serbia, and saw this as an attack on their interests, so they mobilized. Then Germany had to declare war since Austria-Hungary was their ally.

This was where the Germans got ambitious. Why not take this opportunity to gain a lot of land and finally take out France, they thought? An excuse to go to war and use the superior weaponry was all they needed, since they already had a plan laid out for the exact thing. So they took Luxembourg, and then invaded Belgium, since that was the only way to France, because the French had a good defense along the border with Germany, but not with Belgium.

The USA declared neutrality, as you probably already know. They saw it as Europe's business and not theirs.

However, countries in the United Kingdom's empire were pretty much automatically included in their declaration of war. Even before Australia officially entered the war, they were already acting in the interests of England in taking out German vessels.

The views of the people, Canada vs. Australia and New Zealand, on their participation in the war and what good it was is actually a very interesting topic; however, it will come up later.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I hope to keep this updated about every week or so!


	2. Chapter 2

I don't own Hetalia! end/AN

New Zealand had come over, excited about their upcoming training. They were to go to Egypt to train, so that they would be close enough by the fighting to be quickly moved, but not too close.

If New Zealand was excited, however, then Australia was ecstatic.

"We'll show them we're not just countries stuck in some forgotten corner of the world," Australia enthused, having felt many times that the world ignored them, that they were somehow worth less to the world than more flashy colonies or countries under the control of other nations.

New Zealand raised an eyebrow at the term 'countries,' but didn't argue. Their status was a little unsure at this point, as they were distinctly different from colonies, but at the same time not really their own countries. "We _are_ tougher than they give us credit for."

"Exactly! There's no reason we should be kept from the fighting! We're directly affected, Zea, and it doesn't make sense that we should stay back here and just shoot at the passing ships! We're so much more than just, just… you know, sitting back and defending our own borders. We can do so much more!" Australia nearly spilled the tea he'd brewed, but hastily corrected his hands so that the liquid didn't slosh over the edges of the tea cup.

New Zealand accepted the cup, adding a little less excitedly, "I've been in wars. I know what it is. And you've fought before; not wars, really, but we've got experience. It's silly to keep us back."

Australia grinned. These were the moments he liked New Zealand, when he agreed with him and added to his arguments, even if no one was there to hear them. "We're going to be the toughest, most hardworking soldiers they've ever seen."

"You can count on that," New Zealand agreed, eyes lit up with the prospect of how well things could turn out. He obviously counted on his wars with England to bolster his experience and get him ready for the battlefield.

Turning on his heel and walking about the room, Australia began to outline what he thought would happen. "Imagine, them battling Austria and Hungary and Germany, and they're cornered, they're out of ammo, and who comes rushing in at the last moment, sweeping the tide of the war and putting it to an easy end?"

"You and me," New Zealand said with a smile, as though he'd suspected such fantasies from Australia. He took a sip from his teacup, still smiling.

"That's right, you and me! No one will think we're a pair of backwater locales after this war, you can swear on that!" Australia swept his arm out, adding, "Think, we could have medals of honor! Just imagine a ceremony like that, in front of every important person, recognized for the first time since our birth!"

"You'd like that," New Zealand said with a grin, holding his teacup just below his lips, "but who's going to get a bigger medal of honor? Me. I've been in wars; sorry, but you're just an inexperienced pup."

Australia glared at New Zealand; this was one of those moments where he didn't like New Zealand quite so much. And he was about to march over and tell him so, and probably deck him, when suddenly a jagged pain attacked his chest, and he fell to his knees. "Z-Zea… Ow… Oh god, that hurts!"

And he didn't often admit to things hurting; it must have been why New Zealand spilled his tea in getting up to be by his side. "It's okay, breathe, it's going to be all right," New Zealand promised, hand on his back and the other feeling his forehead.

Every breath that Australia took seemed to send jabs through his nerves, spreading up one of his arms and ending unbearably at about the wrist. He clutched it, murmuring, "Damn it, Zea, what the hell's going on?"

It felt like some sort of attack, like a nervous spasm or something; it lasted for several minutes, with New Zealand rubbing his back and him biting through his lip.

When it was gone, they resumed their tea as if nothing had happened.

* * *

When they had arrived in Egypt, to be closer to the action while they trained, Egypt himself had been there. That turned out to be a coincidence; he didn't say a word to either of them, his solemn eyes looking them over and then sighing.

They hadn't seen him after that.

What they had seen was a lot of training; it turned out, much to New Zealand's chagrin, that fighting had changed since they had last done it. There was a lot more hiding, a lot more maneuvering, planning, trying not to die…

To say they were upset by the way they were trained was not accurate at all, they just a little surprised. They could no longer simply run at the enemy and wait for them to reload.

They should have known that, Australia reflected. They had faster guns now, it made sense.

England, when he did show up, also tended to be irritatingly condescending. When New Zealand suggested making forts like he'd made back during the Flagstaff Wars and the like, England had sniffed and assured him he would understand the war a little better if he stopped comparing it to petty maneuvers and remember that it was a bigger and grander war than could ever be fought in the savage lands of New Zealand.

New Zealand had looked like he wanted to punch him, but he must have wanted to prove himself in battle more, because he didn't.

It was one late night, as they got back from training, that New Zealand lay on his military cot and let out a sigh.

"What, Zea?" Australia looked over at him, barely able to see him in the dark.

"I just want to be on the frontlines already. I want him to know I'm not some stupid child who doesn't understand war; I know how to fight. I know what I'm doing. Why does he act like I'm an idiot?" New Zealand's voice was hushed; if England heard them, there was no doubt that he would sentence them to running. And they'd had quite enough of running and exercise that day.

Australia stared upwards, wondering what it was like. "Me too, Zea. It's like he still sees that ankle biter he adopted from the wilds when he looks at me. He'll see soon enough, if he ever lets us fight." It felt like it had been forever since they had arrived; it couldn't have been that long, realistically speaking, however.

New Zealand let out a snort, adding, "When he does, we'll kick German ass."

Australia grinned. "And Austrian ass, and Ottoman ass, and before you know it, the war'll be over and England'll have to know that we kept it from getting too widespread."

It was as though he could hear New Zealand smiling across from him. Australia added, "And you and me, mate, we're going to show the world we're not backwater, we're not useless, and we're not cowards. Just cause we don't have hundreds of years of wars in our histories doesn't mean we're worth shit on the battlefield."

A soft snore came from where New Zealand lay. Australia sighed, realizing that New Zealand must have been much more exhausted than he let on.

It was about time he slept anyway. A lot to do tomorrow, if they were to be ready in time to invade.

* * *

'We're landing here, and you're landing there. Make a beachhead, and hold it at all costs. Understand?'

If Australia had been a child, or at least a sentimental sort, he would have been holding onto New Zealand's hand in pure excitement. As it was, he stared coolly ahead, decked out in his uniform and battle gear.

This was it. This was the moment he and New Zealand were called upon to help change the direction of the war.

He didn't know a lot about Turkey; he knew little about the Ottoman Empire. They were, of course, Muslim heathens or something of the sort, and England had probably never approved of them.

The ship was nearing the shore. Soon, they would have to get out into the water in little boats and get there.

New Zealand suddenly squeezed his wrist, and as Australia looked over, the blond was grinning, in a sort of fierce way. "We can do this, Aussie. Don't you go getting scared at the last minute, okay?"

Australia glared at him, replying, "I'm not scared! You're the one who looks like a babe that just wet itself."

New Zealand barked out a laugh, but it was time to go.

The water was a bit chilly, and it sloshed into the rowboats as they piled on and headed for shore. Australia flexed his muscles, pulling easily at the oars; New Zealand sat directly behind him, pulling a second of oars.

It was too dark to see, and no lights were allowed. This was for the element of surprise; if the Ottomans had no idea they were coming, they could gain control of this area, and allow for the takeover of the Dardanelles Straits.

However, as they hit the shore, in the limited light, New Zealand hissed, "I don't think this is the right spot. Australia, I think we missed our landing spot."

Eyes sharp and on the limited shrubbery, Australia hissed back, "What do you mean, this isn't the right spot? How can you even tell?"

"The ridges aren't right. It doesn't match the map-"

Gunfire. The soldiers around them erupted into motion, into loud yells: this was combat, and they understood enough to know every life could be ended at any moment.

Australia was already heading for the thick shrubs, shouting at New Zealand, "We've got to take that ridge!"

But New Zealand was nowhere to be seen among the rush, and falling bodies. Australia's heart was pounding in his chest: his first instinct was to look for his little brother, but he knew his training, and he knew the objectives: take the ridge at any cost.

His company didn't seem to be around him, as he pushed towards the far away ridge; he called out their names, trying to keep them on track, in the right direction, but only a few were around him. The rest were a messy confusion.

Like lightning, like this was what he had trained his whole life for, Australia led the way.

By the time they reached the ridge, he could make out some of the other soldiers on other outcroppings and ridges; but they were too far apart, too thin... Something wasn't right.

Australia cursed, shooting back at the Turks hidden from view on their native coast. He wasn't the best at military maneuvering, but even he could tell they couldn't possibly be in the right position.

"Hold the ridge!" he shouted, hiding behind the sparse protection of the scrub.

* * *

New Zealand had been separated, but he was still on good footing; he marched with what remained of their company, who were being taken down like flies. "Keep coming!" he cried, trying somehow to stop the slaughter as they came out of the boats.

He spotted a Turk in the dark, just barely, and shot in that direction.

This was distinctly different from Maori wars, or the Flagstaff wars. Never had there been such a rush of terrifying confusion; where were the captains, the commanders?

Had he been a younger, more easily scared nation, he might have tried to hide, or go back, or something of the sort. But New Zealand had determined long ago that he wasn't a person to run from danger; and it was this commitment to not being a coward that sent him barreling headlong into enemy fire.

There wasn't even supposed to be an opposing force; it was no wonder the soldiers were thrown into confusion.

New Zealand wished it was lighter, but at the same time, knew the cover of darkness was helping them.

Turkey was supposed to be easy to fight, but if the sounds of the dying and wounded were anything to go by, Turkey was anything but a lightweight.

Suddenly, the frantic voices relaying orders came through the crowd: new coordinates, new lines they were supposed to hold.

New Zealand's stomach clenched in fear: the new lines were behind the old ones. Australia had to be out there in front, completely unaware of this!

He needed to get out there now! New Zealand struggled forward, head ducked, and small body easily pushed aside. Australia wouldn't know what to do, he'd never been in battle, what if he was already dead? A feverish desire to reach him filled New Zealand, and he managed to make it to about the first ridge before being pulled down from the unsafe edge by fellow soldiers.

"Are you insane?" "You'll be fucking murdered out there!"

"I have to! My brother-"

"Doesn't matter! Those are our orders!" "Get down, fucking idiot!"

He nearly fell to his knees under the weight of the other soldiers' hands. They were New Zealanders, he could tell; why else would they feel the need to save him in such a place?

He couldn't save Australia; he had only to survive himself, and hope his brother made it out alive.

* * *

Something was horribly wrong; Australia wished he could see around him, but he had to lie flat on his stomach to keep from being shot at. The other men around him had equal amounts of nervousness, or practically sheer terror.

Suddenly, a whole troop of Turkish soldiers were nearing them, the sounds of them making their way through the scrub just barely heard over the gunshots. Australia tried to signal to his men, but they couldn't see him in the dark.

As soon as they were close enough, Australia, feeling a great and terrifying swell of courage in his chest, stood shooting at the enemy.

All his men stood too, firing.

Australia's hands were sweaty, nearly slipping off the trigger. The Turks fired back, and men began to drop like dogs, cries and swearing groans just audible over the gunshots.

There went the man to Australia's right, there went someone behind him-

He was alone. He couldn't swallow, he couldn't keep his knees from shaking, but he kept firing-

Pain exploded in the side of his head, and he fell over. How had someone snuck up on him from the side? He was scrambling to his feet already, but the muzzle of a gun pressed into his back.

He was marginally proud he hadn't wet himself. He breathed heavily, staying completely still.

He heard another language, presumably Turkish, as the soldiers examined the small group. He could hear several of the soldiers gasping and panting, trying to hold themselves together despite the obvious pain they were in.

A command came from behind him, and suddenly guns were turned on the soldiers.

"If you're taking us prisoner, you should know that we won't give up anything," Australia gasped out, feeling the lump forming on the side of his head. His whole brain seemed to buzz with fear, but he kept his face as free of it as possible.

The man chuckled, but it was humorless. "We're not taking prisoners." It was heavily accented, but something about it something familiar.

Before he could consider whether he knew the man or not, the words caught up with him, and his eyes widened in horror. "You can't-!"

The guns went off. No more breathing from any of the men.

Australia's head felt throbbing and sweaty and cold all at the same time, as his very spine seemed to tremble. He shut his eyes, waiting for his turn.

But the shot didn't come. The voice explained, "We can't afford to take prisoners, but you're not ordinary, are you? Who are you?"

Australia strained to remember the name on his dogtags. "Jacob... Stevens."

The voice hit him in the back of the head with the gun, stating, "I don't have time for nonsense! What nation are you?"

Australia didn't know what to do. He hadn't been briefed on how to deal with being identified as a nation and captured. He desperately tried to think; imagine the kind of edge Turkey might have if he caught a member of the Commonwealth! But he knew he was a nation anyway, and had to be an Allied nation...

"Boy, don't make me wait!"

"Australia." It sort of slipped out, as no other options came to mind.

"You're coming with us." The gun slipped away from his back, and a new dread filled Australia. Coming with them? Where the hell were they taking him?

"No!" he threw himself at the man, who turned out to be big, muscular, and masked. Said man caught him partway, trying to turn him into a particularly painful hold.

Australia bit him, sinking his teeth into his wrist. This inspired a pained howl, and release. Australia ran for a distance, then dove down when they started firing at him.

He never through he'd have to army crawl so fast, but he did, and he moved through the scrub with alarming speed. His heart felt like he might accidentally vomit it out, and his whole brain was buzzing with the thought of, _He killed them, he just killed them_!

He didn't dwell too much, focusing on the bad taste of dirt in his mouth and the far too far away frontline.

How had he ended up so far away from it?

* * *

There was sunlight on the battlefield, and it was a horrible sight it showed. Bodies were littered everywhere, from ridge to ridge. Turk, New Zealander, and Australian alike.

New Zealand had already thrown up in the night, so though his stomach wanted to heave at the sight, he was quite incapable of it. Somehow, despite the long hours, fear still prickled at the corners of his consciousness for Australia. He still hadn't seen him; he was grateful not to have seen him among the dead, but it didn't mean he wasn't there.

Gunshots were still going off, and there was a lot of movement and yelling in the scrub. New Zealand prayed that Australia would emerge, but also knew how unlikely it was that he had made it out unscathed.

News had been going among the soldiers, that only some of them knew the orders, that the rest had been lost far further out along the old objectives; there was talk of ruthless slaughter, of thousands wounded or dead.

New Zealand gripped his rifle, and bit the inside of his cheek hard. Focus. Focus was the only thing that was going to keep him alive in a wasteland like this.

* * *

Australia had made it back over the line, only narrowly avoiding being shot by his own men. He'd gotten hold of a rifle, and aimed it back at the Turkish bastards.

He had no doubt he had encountered Turkey himself. He had faced the heathen and lived, but it wasn't exactly something he would boast about. He ran his tongue over his teeth, still tasting the coppery and all too human taste of blood.

Finding New Zealand was something he wanted to do, but he was under orders to fight; the soldiers were a confusing mass, as though no one knew entirely what to do.

Where were the captains, the ones in charge? Australia couldn't spot any at all. And he should know their faces; he'd spent enough time with them.

Wait! There was one of them! Australia got his attention, demanding to know, "What's going on? What are our orders?"

"We're setting the men to digging trenches! Get a shovel and get to it, we can't spare any hands!"

Australia was stunned. The number of bodies he'd seen, the whole lines of soldiers that had been slaughtered... they couldn't possibly have enough men to hold off a counterattack from the Turks. "Sir, how the hell can we be expected to hold against another attack?"

If he'd been a normal soldier, he was sure he would be court martialed.

The captain threw his hands up, saying, "Those are General Hamilton's orders!"

Australia gritted his teeth, and took a shovel. If they had to hold the line, then they would hold the line. Never mind the massive losses, if it was what England required, then he and New Zealand would prove their worth.

Good god, he hoped New Zealand was all right. He hoped he wasn't one of the bodies lying out in the scrub, or even being transported back to the ships on their landing boats. New Zealand didn't seem like the type to put up with severe battle wounds well.

The dirt was heavy, but Australia was strong. He and his men worked, dirty, sweaty, even bloody, to save themselves and the line.

* * *

New Zealand wasn't usually a fan of splitting away from his company, but this didn't only involve him; if Australia was dead, they had a crisis on their hands. Who would represent Australia? What would happen to the country?

He suspected a country without a representation would be quick to fall apart; he didn't know for sure, though, only having been around several decades.

It was rough, dirty walking, making his way through the trenches to search for Australia. "Australia? Have any of you seen Australia? About this tall, brown hair, cocky smirk?"

Unfortunately, it seemed he'd described a good number of the soldiers; every time he came across one who fit the description, it turned out to be a human.

New Zealand was a patient person, but he wanted to tear his hair out. Not knowing, he decided, was worse than knowing he was dead. It left him in a limbo between relief and sorrow, in a horribly sticky place that played with his emotions at every turn.

Australia had to have made it out, but the odds weren't in his favor. It was his first real battle, and everyone knew first timers were most likely to die. Well, everyone except the first timers.

"Australia!"

He'd gotten far away from the group of New Zealanders he'd ended up with. He must have gone halfway through the line by now, risking being shot in the sparsely defended points. He felt selfish, stupid, for leaving his post, despite having gotten permission.

Suddenly, however, he spotted the bandage on the nose, and took in the dirty, grimy body of his brother. "Australia! You're all right!"

"Zea?" He turned, shock on his face.

Acting like a soldier be damned, New Zealand hugged him tightly, saying, "I thought you were dead! Good god, what were we supposed to do if you'd died?"

Australia loosely hugged him back, murmuring, "I almost died." And New Zealand stepped back, looking at his face. His jaw wasn't held tightly, but hung a bit loose; his eyes had no spark. His whole face was smeared with dirt.

New Zealand's heart twisted; despite being the younger one, he suddenly felt like a responsible elder brother who should be looking out for Australia. Australia had never seen masses of death in this way; hell, neither had he, but at least he understood the death of a soldier. He almost reached out to cup Australia's face, but thought better of it. "It's too much for you; I knew it'd be too much. I'll get you out on the next boat, say you have shell shock-"

"Zea, I _almost_ died. I'm not even hurt! I'm not abandoning my company! Don't go-" he stamped his foot, seeming frustrated for words. "Don't go _mothering_ me! I'm a soldier, the same as you! The boats are for the wounded, not for me!"

New Zealand stepped back, flushing red. "All right, I understand. I'm sorry I suggested it." It had been sort of stupid; he should have known his brother would have an iron will despite the great shock of warfare.

"You should be," Australia snarled, hands clenched on his rifle, and eyes staring straight ahead.

New Zealand glared. "I was only looking out for you. Don't need to act like a shit about it." He hefted his rifle back over his shoulder, frown on his face still.

Australia didn't look back, frown still on his face.

New Zealand decided to stay nearby, despite the kerfuffle, and backed off to help man the radios. Forget Australia; no, don't forget him! How could he act like that when New Zealand had spent all night running his brain raw worrying over him? How could he act like someone else looking out for him was being stupid?

Well, just because Australia was being a royal pain didn't mean he had to act like they weren't even brothers. He would stay nearby anyway.

* * *

The day England arrived was a day they knew they were in trouble. He had a distinct, tight frown on his face, and he had the shadows of a battle already fought under his eyes. He grimly got off the boat, and joined the two of them. "How are you?" his tone was clipped.

Australia spoke for both of them. "Bruised and battered, but fully ready to kick ass, sir!"

England seemed to wrinkle his nose a bit at the informal reply, but he moved on quickly. His eyes took in them in like he was seeing mirrors of himself, and he didn't particularly like what he saw. "I'm here to help get the job done; don't expect, however, that you should slack off."

Of course England would say something like that. But Australia just nodded, keeping his face grim. He almost wanted to grin, despite the circumstances, because that perpetual look of having sucked on a lemon was on England's face.

They split up to go to their separate trenches, English with the British marines, New Zealand with the New Zealander company, and Australia with one of the Australian companies.

It was a grim day, the sun shining down at them like salt in the wound. It was like someone smiling at a funeral.

Australia chewed on his lip, in the muddy rat hole of a trench with his men. It tasted like blood, and he nearly hurled at the memory of sinking his teeth into Turkey's arm. He hadn't brought it up with either New Zealand or England; especially England. By now, England wouldn't understand the fear of being almost killed or captured; he had to have faced it a thousand times over.

And New Zealand? He had probably dismissed fear as a childhood thing by now; hell, even as a child, he'd been particularly fearless, despite his normally gentle demeanor.

He wiped at the dirt on his forehead, and grimaced at the trench. They needed to keep this line; that was the only thing that mattered right now.

Gunshots rang out, and Australia was alert in an instant- he took aim at any stray rustling in the scrub, and easily ignored the fact that he was killing people. These were people who wanted him dead, who wanted to see his whole family torn apart- it wasn't hard to shoot at them.

It ran into a crystal blur after that. Shoot at the enemy, try not to get shot. Australia kept at it like an automaton.

* * *

New Zealand wasn't sure how it had been called, but a temporary truce due to the stalemate was indeed made. The men walked out into the no man's area from both sides, the weariness of war evident in every step.

Staring at the corpses, which numbered in the hundreds, if not thousands, New Zealand felt the urge to throw up again. There was something chilling about the absolute stillness of a corpse, the fact that it would never move of its own accord ever again.

England had been battered and weary, appearing to have suffered a gunshot wound to the shoulder; he was still there anyway. Whatever he was, he was determined, and probably a good leader.

New Zealand picked up his shovel, and began to dig: graves had to be made somehow. He was startled when a shadow fell across him.

"It is in times like these that even the savage must weep." A masked man stood behind him, posture not the least bit threatening; rather, it was as though something heavy weighed upon him. New Zealand realized who he was instantly.

He nodded, almost remaining a mute, as he said, "And even the gentle seem savage in a place like this." The bodies stretched as far as he could see, beyond Turkey beside him.

The nation had a shovel, he realized, and began to dig a grave next to him. The only sound was of the dirt being struck and moved as they could hear men all around them doing the same thing.

It was like peace, but a peace full of death and horror.

* * *

In the days after the stalemate, England left, saying he had other battle fronts to maintain. He gave them a stern look, and the command to 'stay alive and hold the line.'

Australia hunkered down next to New Zealand, whose face had the wearied look of a soldier on it. Passing him rations, he said, with slight grin, "Hey, buck up. It can't get much worse than this."

New Zealand let out a sigh, saying, "I think it can."

Australia shushed him. "Don't say that! That's bad luck!"

"So's what you said," New Zealand grumbled, dirt smudged across his face. He buried his face in his arms, as though to get a reprieve from the sunshine.

Australia pinched his ear, laughing for what felt like the first time in years at the indignant squawk that came from him. "Hey, I'm still the older brother, and I could pin you in a fight, so don't go contradicting me!"

New Zealand shoved him, but he had something of a grin on his face. "Yeah, so you're old, craggy face. And pin me? I don't fucking think so!"

And had it been old times, they probably would have wrestled, and had one emerge victorious. While Australia was at it, he might as well imagine having a cool glass of milk, or a plate of biscuits; both were just as likely in this setting.

He stood, as tall as was safe to stand in the trench. "I got to go; stay safe."

He walked to his lookout post, relieving the man on duty. He looked over the ground, to see the tip tops of the trenches the Turks had built.

It seemed fair, yet cruel, that the Turks should be trapped in the muddy hellholes that the Anzac troops were. Australia knew what it was like; fairly exposed to the elements, no good food, always feeling dirty…

It wasn't something he would easily wish on most people.

In fact, war itself, it seemed, was something that shouldn't be wished on anyone. Despite New Zealand's descriptions of glory and valor, war didn't feel like an honorable endeavor; it felt like a lottery. If your ticket was pulled, you were shot dead, without a further thought about you afterwards.

Australia almost didn't hear the first shell until it hit their trench.

The explosion knocked him back, and he cried out, his training kicking in, and shouting for all of the men to fire back, move out of the way, prepare for shells raining on their heads!

It was like time stood still. Australia was moving faster than he'd ever moved, into the bloody mess of where the shell had landed. He ignored the blood, helping move the soldiers who had been hit. He applied pressure to a gaping wound in a soldier's abdomen, telling him to stay with him, it would be all right, don't give up now.

It was from there that he saw New Zealand, helmet firmly on his head and gun defiantly pointed at the enemy. It was also from there that he saw the shell arc straight for New Zealand.

He screamed, yelling, trying to get New Zealand to move, but he couldn't leave this man, and it was only milliseconds that New Zealand had to move.

It blew up, obscuring New Zealand from view.

* * *

It had been an agonizing half an hour before Australia could even check on New Zealand; before the shells stopped. They'd returned their own shells, but the damage was done.

Australia tore through the trench, to the line of wounded being transported. "Please- I'm looking for Joshua Turner? Blond fellow, two big curls in his hair- please, he's my brother!"

Moaning, bloodstained body after body passed in front of his eyes, some without proper faces, some without limbs. His stomach turned like a ferris wheel, desperate for the sight of New Zealand.

He'd almost given up hope, when he'd seen the telltale blond curls. "Zea! Oh thank god, Zea!" He seized New Zealand's clammy hand, before he saw, with growing horror, the bandages wrapped around his head.

"Zea? New Zealand, please, answer me!"

New Zealand's head turned, and his one unwrapped eye stared uncomprehendingly at Australia. He watched his lips as they moved, seeming to strain to catch each word as it formed.

"Zea, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you to leave me be! I'm fucking sorry, all right? Please, just speak to me, tell me you're all right!"

But New Zealand did nothing of the sort, still staring blankly. A fury, almost a panic, seemed to be building in his one eye, as he frowned and shook his head, as though trying to clear it.

One of the soldiers moving him said, "He's had a severe head trauma; he needs to be left alone."

"Huh? What the hell?" Australia demanded. How dare this man try to separate them!

"His head's fucked up!" the other soldier said helpfully, as they lifted him between them. Given his state, it didn't look as though New Zealand could walk on his own.

"I'm coming with him! I'm his brother!" Australia marched resolutely beside them, eyes hard as bullets.

The soldiers didn't argue, transporting New Zealand towards the boats. As New Zealand twisted and saw where he was going, he let out a loud, scratchy, "Stop!"

It was almost as though he didn't know how he sounded. Australia shook off that thought, trying to talk to him. "Zea, you're hurt, you have to go!"

"I'm staying! I'm staying!" New Zealand insisted, struggling to break free from the soldiers trying to carry him away.

Australia started to talk again, but was cut off by New Zealand.

"This is my post, I will stay here until the campaign is over or til I die!"

Australia shuddered a bit inwardly at the thought. He wanted New Zealand to go. He wanted him to stay alive; but maybe it was really New Zealand's decision. "Let him stay," he said with a sigh.

The soldiers looked at him like he was crazy. "Are you fucking crazy? Look at his head!"

"It's his decision! Look at his rank; he has every right to make the decision himself!" Australia pulled his identification out of his shirt, and sure enough, his special status shocked the soldiers into complying with a 'yes sir.'

New Zealand stumbled to his feet, leaning on Australia for support. As the soldiers left, he said nothing.

Australia suddenly squeezed him tightly in a hug, saying, "Don't you dare almost die ever again. If you die here, I won't ever forgive myself. Understand?"

No answer, but New Zealand did hug back.

Australia brought him back to the trench, and they settled in for a long night.

* * *

New Zealand wasn't sure how he was going to keep it hidden. Even as he was able to use both eyes, and shoot quite well, it was really hard pretending he could hear his commander.

And it was terrifying, living in a soundless world. A hearty slap on the back came as a complete shock; he had to pretend to be completely fine.

His entire company had assumed he was shell shocked, due to his not talking, so they let him be.

But Australia kept coming back and trying to talk to him. Today, his face was creased with concern, with hurt. It was though he thought New Zealand was avoiding him, ignoring him.

New Zealand stared at his lips, trying to catch what he was saying. But he wasn't sure which shapes made which sounds, and it was all so fast… he had no chance of figuring it out. So he grunted angrily, turning away from Australia.

Hands turned him back around, and now Australia's face seemed heated. _Do you hate me_? He must have been saying. Or he could have been saying, _Don't you love me?_

New Zealand had to tell someone. So, he said, trying to make sure to make more of a hissing noise between his teeth to make it quiet, "I can't hear you."

Australia looked stunned. He stared for a moment, then clapped his hands, mouth making motions, probably, _Did you hear that?_

"I don't know what you're saying. It was the blast." New Zealand really hoped he didn't sound idiotic. He tucked his hands together, watching Australia's face.

Australia seemed to be fighting internally, looking at New Zealand, then away, then back again. He bit his lip, chewing until it seemed there was blood. Finally, he mouthed very slowly, _Stay. With. Me._

New Zealand was confused. He thought about it; was Australia offering to look out for him? Was that even possible in this setup? But Australia seized his hands, nodding. And so New Zealand nodded too.

* * *

Summer was murderous. Any opportunity the troops had, they would swim. It was the only amenity offered, and they took full advantage of it.

At that particular moment, Australia and New Zealand were in the water. New Zealand's bandages were long gone, though his hearing had not returned. It still nettled Australia that New Zealand had been hurt in such a way, but he'd gotten used to it already.

They'd become symbiotic over the passed time, with Australia coming up with a set of signals for New Zealand. They were one handed, so that it was easier to warn him. _Shoot. Duck. Move. Over here. Over there._

And of course, there had been more than one occasion that he'd yanked him out of the way, no time for hand signals.

Australia didn't like to admit that it was absolutely dangerous for New Zealand to be there. He couldn't hear the gunshots, and he couldn't hear the orders. He'd become Australia's mimic, following him everywhere.

And Australia wouldn't dare become separated from New Zealand, who had barely spoken a word since the confession. He didn't know what the generals would do if they knew that a deaf country was still in action; he had a feeling they would be separated.

Sometimes, he wondered what drove New Zealand to stay. Then he remembered his own thirst to prove that he was as good as any country, and figured it must drive New Zealand as well.

In any case, he thought, as he dunked his head underwater, New Zealand would never come to harm so long as he watched him.

He was glad, not for the first time, that England was not there.

/AN/ Whew! Well, long story with this chapter; I lost it when my computer died. But then my good friend saved my data, and got it to me some time after. I love computer geeks now. A

Anyway, very sorry this took so long! I hope it was worth the wait!

History!

So, first you've got the Battle of Broken Hill, which was an attack on a train by criminals. They were shot, and that was over quickly.

Then came the WWI stuff! Firstly, Anzac troops were trained in Egypt. They were within view of the Sphinx, I believe.

The Gallipoli Campaign was a twofold attack; at the same time, there was the landing at Helles, and then the landing at Anzac Cove.

Neither landing went particularly well. In Anzac Cove, it was expected that there would be no opposition. They turned out to be very wrong, as there was a number of Turkish troops that responded to the invasion. Many men died just trying to get out of the boats and onto land.

Then, to complicate matters, many of the commanding officers and others in charge were killed in the landing. So, when the plan was changed to have the line further back than the original objective, a lot of the troops didn't know that, and ended up pushing out alone and getting picked off by the Turks.

Now, before you assume that Turkey was some monster for not taking prisoners, let me explain this one. Neither sides were taking prisoners; in fact, only one prisoner was taken from the Anzac side. Not sure if any Turkish prisoners were taken at all. This is because this wasn't a setting where capturing prisoners was all that feasible; both sides were somewhat weak and unprepared for that sort of conflict.

After the massive loss of life, the Royal Marines showed up, and tried to help hold the line; they took the brunt of the attack.

Then, there was a stalemate. A temporary truce was called in order to bury the dead. A Turkish captain is recorded as saying, 'At this spectacle even the most gentle must feel savage, and the most savage must weep.'

This was the first major military action that New Zealand and Australia had been involved in, and it was a massacre on both sides, with around 2,000 Anzacs lost, and around 4,000 Turks just in the landing.

Both sides shelled each other at various points. It had devolved to trench warfare, with mostly a stalemate going on, long before summer. And summer was miserable, with millions of flies and high temperatures. The Anzacs' only relief was getting to swim in the ocean.

Also, the reason that the Anzacs couldn't retreat during the landing was because the landing boats were already being used to transport the wounded back to the ships.

That's about it; the reason for New Zealand's head injury will come up later.


End file.
